Stalker
by Lexosaurus
Summary: Ghosts were prisoners to their obsessions. Which is why this one shouldn't be allowed to exist in Amity Park any longer.


**Ectober Week Day 2: Stalker**

* * *

It was disgusting. Vile. Abhorrent.

Operative Z checked his watch. Nearly nine-thirty p.m. His wife had probably already put the kids to bed. His two little girls would have to fall asleep tonight without a goodnight kiss from Daddy, without any of his bedtime stories about princesses and fairies.

But that was alright. He would make up for it tomorrow. Tonight, his job took priority.

He adjusted his position from behind the bush and turned his attention back to the ghost he had been following.

Disgusting.

The creature sat on the ground, leaning against a tree tucked away in the corner of the park. It held a book—a _human _item—and…

Well, saying the ghost was _reading _the book would be giving it too much credit. It was just a mindless sentient conglomerate of ectoplasm and consciousness imprinted on it from a past life. It had no new thoughts of its own, no organic opinions, it couldn't learn anything new. It was nothing but an incomplete, semi-functional remnant of its human life.

It was like a machine, only programmed to run the codes inputted into it. Nothing more, nothing less.

The ghost turned the page and giggled, its aura flashing brighter. It ran its gloved hand through its white hair before returning its attention back to the book.

Operative Z grimaced.

Ghosts were prisoners to their obsession. Anything that fit their obsession, they _had _to do.

And this specific creature's obsession—to play the hero—was becoming stronger and stronger by the day.

The ghost was _reading. _Or, at least, it was pretending to. Being an active hero to humans was no longer fulfilling enough for this ghost's obsession. It needed to now emulate other human behaviors as well.

Maybe the ghost had seen human movies like Superman or Batman and noticed reading as a human activity. Maybe it had stalked a local police officer home and saw him reading after work. Maybe it had a fragmented memory of holding a book from its past life.

Whatever the case, its ectoplasmic-impulses were telling it that reading was something a human hero should do. So if other heroes read, that _must _be a requirement for a hero. The creature—the _ghost—_must do it as well.

While this was a seemingly innocent act, it was still sickening to watch because it marked the beginning of this ghost's descent into madness. Obsessions were like a drug. Ghosts must do activities to feed into them, and the more obsessive activities they do, the stronger their obsession becomes.

So even if reading wasn't technically hurting any humans, how much longer would it be until reading was no longer enough for this ghost's obsession? How long would it be until the ghost _needed _to be an active hero all day long?

How long until the ghost started putting humans in harm's way, if only to "save" them?

There was also another matter entirely, one that shook Operative Z to his core.

This ghost had nothing to fight here. Yet, it was still in Amity Park. It didn't go into the Ghost Zone like many of its kind did once they fulfilled their obsessions on Earth.

It was _still here. _

Which meant that it likely didn't have a lair in the Ghost Zone anymore. This city, Amity Park, was its new lair.

Operative Z had never heard of a ghost moving locations of its lair, and truthfully, he didn't think it was possible. It _shouldn't_ have been possible.

And yet…

This ghost—this gruesome _thing_—had done it.

It had always had a pattern in the past: fight a ghost, win, receive the praises of the town, and then disappear. Sometimes the ghost would disappear for a day. Sometimes it would disappear for a week. But one thing was certain: it was no longer in Amity Park.

Until recently.

Over the past few months, the ghost had started lingering in Amity Park even when there was nothing to fight. Sometimes it would fly aimlessly throughout the sky, sometimes it would hang out on rooftops with the traitorous Red Huntress, sometimes it would be conducting patrols of the town.

If this ghost was spending all of its time fulfilling its obsession in Amity Park, without ever returning to the Ghost Zone to recharge, that could only mean that its lair now _was _Amity park.

It was the exact disgusting kind of behavior that Operative Z had come to expect of ghosts.

And so, the Guys in White began stalking the ghost. They gathered data, tracked his daily habits, and recorded changes in his obsessive tendencies. Now, they knew more about what made this ghost tick than they ever had before.

Which is why they understood exactly how dangerous this ghost was. It was engaging in too many human behaviors, partaking in too many human rituals.

It was beginning to think that it was human.

When the ghost would reference others of its kind to the Red Huntress, it would compare itself to them as if it weren't like them. It called itself a "halfa" and said words like "full ghost" and "half ghost."

And the worst part? The other ghosts seemed to respond in kind.

After all, the only thing ghosts knew how to do was feed into their obsessions. So if one ghost no longer viewed themselves as a full ghost? Then the rest of the pack didn't either.

So the question remained: how long would it take until this ghost no longer viewed itself as a ghost at all?

That might be an interesting experiment to conduct, but it was too risky. Far too risky. The ghost was already far too dangerous, too deluded. Waiting any longer would only result in certain death to the people of Amity Park.

No, this ghost could not be allowed to exist among the populace any longer. Its freedom ended now.

Operative Z leaned over, brushing his hand against the metal ecto-gun aimed towards the creature. He closed one eye and clicked the safety off.

The ghost's head shot up.

It was now or never.

He squeezed the trigger.

The ghost didn't stand a chance. The moment recognition flashed across the ghost's face, the ecto-bullet was already upon it. It lodged into the ghost's torso and immediately activated, sending electricity coursing through the ghost's body.

The ghost fell to the ground screaming. It writhed on the grass, twitching and producing guttural noises that Operative Z knew could only come from its core.

With practiced motions, Operative Z flipped open his watch and pressed the button the rightmost button in the group. He held his arm up and a transparent blue dome sprang from his watch, arcing like a fountain above his head and falling around his feet.

Just in time, too, because the ghost's screams were getting louder, more inhuman. Branches tore from their trees and rocks flew through the air. Its aura pushed and pulled, pulsing through the air in erratic patterns.

Even under the fortified ghost shield, Operative Z could still feel the pressure from this ghost. It was powerful, dominating, and showcased every ounce of the danger this creature was comprised of.

Yes, a thing like this surely couldn't exist on this plane any longer.

The ghost's aura flared out one more time before disappearing into itself. And then it was all over. The electricity stopped, the ghost's screams died down into quiet wimpers, and the ghost itself stopped moving.

And, like a stalker in the night, Operative Z could finally make himself known.

He stood, flicking off the ecto-shield, and stored his gun back into his belt.

There was no need for it now. The device rendered the ghost helpless, a paralyzed mess. Now it was just a matter of transporting the ghost to the facility.

Operative Z stepped into the clearing, disarmed, and whistling a tune he'd heard one of his daughters singing this morning. He approached the immoral being and grinned.

He had never seen this ghost look so weak. Ectoplasm leaked from its torso in a steady stream and dripped from its ears and nose. Its eyes were a dull green, and with the tears that slid off his cheeks, it looked more human than ever.

Human. This ghost was far too dangerous, if it had Operative Z comparing it to humans now.

The ghost made eye contact with him and groaned.

"Happy to see me?" Operative Z asked.

The ghost didn't respond.

"Hmm, pity." Operative Z bent down and reached into his belt, producing a pair of custom-made ecto-cuffs. He ripped the ghost's arms from the ground and clasped the cuffs to his wrists.

"No…" the ghost muttered weakly. "You can't...you…"

Operative Z grabbed the ghost by the cuffs and began dragging him through the clearing. He checked his watch. Ten o'clock on the dot.

"It seems that your time terrorizing the town is done, ghost."

"I didn't…"

He yanked the ghost forward, not flinching when its head hit a rock. "Right, I guess in your mind you didn't do anything wrong. After all, you're only hardwired to follow your obsession. You have no logical thought, and no ability to empathize with _anything _other than yourself. And even if you think you're _different _or _special—_which, we know you do think so. We know you think of yourself as not a full ghost. Partially human—but, you're not special. You're just a ghost. A vile, disgusting ghost. You're no better than the 'bad' ghosts you claim to be fighting off. You're exactly like them."

The ghost stared at him in horror.

"You're done playing human, ghost." Operative Z pushed some branches out of his way, revealing a hidden white government van. He unlocked the back and swung open the doors, revealing a dark, barren interior coated with metal and a ghost shield.

He hauled the ghost up into the vehicle and threw him against the metal. Ectoplasm sprayed against the floor, and the ghost's head banged against the floor. The sound echoed throughout the chamber.

The ghost blinked lazily before his eyes snapped back onto Operative Z. "What did...you...do...to me?"

"Ecto-bullet, complete with a power nullification and paralysis poison. You won't be able to move for a while."

"Heh." Its eyes rolled up. "That's what...you think."

Operative Z spat at the creature. "Try me, _ghost._"

The ghost closed its eyes. "Yeah…"

"We've been following you for weeks now. Tailing you after fights. Tracking your nightly patrols. You thought you had outsmarted us? The United States Government? We have more money and resources than you will ever know."

"Clearly."

Operative Z stepped back and gripped the van doors. "You may have the rest of the town fooled, but we know better. And we have the data to back it up. You're through. Look up at the night sky because this is the last time you'll ever see it."

The ghost didn't move. Didn't open its eyes.

Didn't follow orders.

"Alright, if that's how you want it." Operative Z slammed the doors shut.

It was over. It was all over now. After months of planning and tracking, they finally had Priority Ghost Alpha: Phantom. He was government property now. Finally.

This monster would never be free to cause violence again.

Operative Z hoisted himself into the driver's seat and shut the door.

It was all over.

He turned on the engine and began driving into the night, humming that catchy tune once again. He just had to dispose of the ghost at the hidden location, and then he could go home to his lovely wife and children. They would all be asleep by then, but that was alright. He would see them in the morning.

Maybe he would treat them to pancakes. They always did love their dad's blueberry pancakes. After all, tomorrow was a special day. It marked the first day of safety, free of that miserable creature's obsessive dictatorship.

Yes, that sounded like a good plan.

Pancakes it was.

* * *

**This is super unedited so I apologize for any spelling or grammar or just badly formed sentences! I am in a rush to leave my house rn for the night and wanted to get this out on time!**

**Even so, I hope you enjoyed!**


End file.
